New Horizons
by Clockworke
Summary: Original title of book: Forgotten Prophecy. With the war over, and Malefor defeated, peace finally returns to the Dragon Realm. Or so it seems. With Spyro missing as the threat of a new conflict looms over, the Guardians struggle to hold on to the few moments of peace they have left. Before it all ends.
1. Revelations

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places that belong to the Spyro Franchise. All rights and claims belong to Activision**

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I

New Horizons

It was a starless night unlike any other, with a sky that held no light in the icy air.

Morning approached but brought with it no day.

Darkness.

All it ever was.

All around him, all consuming. Cold silence, never breaking.

A black void that stretched as far as he could see. Forever he wandered in this vast expanse of space that dulled his hunger for reckoning with dread and despair.

To alleviate his mind from boredom, he would often take to gazing ongoing events of the Dragon Realm. The ability to scry was a rare one within dragons, and to do so without the aid of the Pool of Visions was ever rarer. Yet he was no ordinary dragon, and his state always reminded him of this.

Closing his mind to his emotions was a simple task for someone in his position. He had trained himself to, for to act in blind rage would be to do so in vain.

Reliving his mind of past tensions, he gazed deeply into the endless happenings of the world, not a single soul aware of his presence. While it did dismiss his mind from the sombreness of his lacklustre state, he only grew more envious of the lives before him. The freedom to move about as they please, the freedom to choose and forge their own paths, the freedom to enjoy time as it passed, the freedom to love...

A sour, sickening flavour rose in the back of his throat, fouling his tongue with distaste. It bit his tongue like bile. It was a feeling he recognized all too well, a venomous feeling of malice and bitterness for those he absolutely _abhorred_. With much abomination, he recalled those days he had spent with those he once believed to be his _friends_.

The word disgusted him…

To have thought for so long, he was treated as an equal among those who were held in high regard by others. To have truly accepted, that he was a friend amongst special dragons was a mere fantasy he so foolishly led himself to believe.

He felt his blood surge through his veins with unmistakable fury, he _hated _them with a passion. His heart filled to the core with hatred to the very _friends_ that forever banished him to this desolate realm.

Even at the height of his supremacy, when they witnessed the sheer devastation he could unleash at any given moment. They had the sheer audacity to let him live and send him howling into the void. They had taken precarious measures to ensure that he would never break free, using their powers in unison to create a barrier of ancient unknown magic across the realm.

While they could not slacken his grip altogether from the world he threatened to decimate, he was still limited by space and time. The fools couldn't even bring about themselves to see him breathe his last.

Or was it out of the belief that death was simply too generous a punishment? Of course it was, of course they would want him to suffer. Even death's cold embrace would have been preferable to this. As such was his punishment. To never die, but to feel the pain and longing of freedom that was nothing more but a memory of his past.

_How poetic, _he thought, reminiscing on his past. It was a fate not even he would wish upon anyone, not even those who betrayed him. No even the lowest of scum should have to live out their existence in this unforgiving place for all eternity.

It was song since the days he had been show any degree of reverence or fear. For now, he was the lone forgotten memory of a tyrant who aimed to take over the realms by conquest; ruled by him as a god.

There was a time at the height of his power that the mere whisper of his name would be enough to fill their souls with ice.

History had marked him as a tainted malefactor. As someone who once held the benefit of others with high regard. Someone who began their quest with high minded intentions.

Someone who operated out of greed for personal gain.

Someone who was not prepared for the sheer seductive influence that is absolute power.

Were his motives selfish? Perhaps, but that wasn't to say not everyone could benefit from then. All he had ever sought to do was bring order to a world rampant with chaos. To do away with poverty, starvation, and war. For him to rule as a god where God had failed.

It was long since then, the memory of his reign faded into legend, and legend unto myth. No one remembered his name. He was given many before and during his reign such as: Tyrant, Tempest, Conqueror, and Darkness. But there was only one he kept close to him, after all these years. It was a name given to him, by someone who considered him special above all others:

Haven.

It was the one name that turned all his happy memories into painful ones. All the moments he had ever spent with the one he loved pierced his soul with an icy dagger. Every time he remembered his loss, it like was another stab to his already broken heart. They weren't strong enough to kill him, but they would sear at an excruciatingly slow pace and bleed him of the dragoninity he once had. For everything Haven had ever been told by her was nothing more than a lie.

Despite all that he ever wanted, he sought to thrive with only high-minded intention; to obtain absolute power across the realm and beyond to sustain perfect peace and harmony. And he was so close he could almost grasp it with his talons, so very close…

It was swept away like all things that were once important to him.

At first, Haven's early days of imprisonment were filled with bitter rage, leaving him to swear upon himself that he would take swift retribution on them all. But as the days and nights melded together, his anger had died out like a withering flame. Now they were filled with sadness and despair that tore what was left of him to pieces. His heart ached as rain turned thick and warm from his eyes, knowing that he will never live those memories again.

Despite how long it's been, he never lost track of time in this painfully boring position. He despised the darkness of the void with every fibre of his lonesome being. In here, time itself seemed to move at an agonising crawl. His fiery passions perished by the bleak boredom that surrounded him.

Then, something unusual happened.

Haven felt a strange, itching sensation in the scales on his back, reawakening his senses after centuries of idleness. It shook his bones. He let out a low gasp as he felt some of his power returning to him in cool surges. He sensed something strange in the barrier that barred his magic. There was almost nothing there, but what would have caused such a rare occurrence?

His prying eyes swept across the lands, searching for the source of the disturbance.

_What's this? Ah if it isn't the purple dragon of legend, _he thought, looking closely with intent.

_"Hold On! Just A Bit Further!_" _Spyro yelled in agony, as he let burst with a strong blast of convexity. A beam of eerie purple light crossed with Cynder's, creating a strong blast of magic overpowering Malefor. He screamed in pain as he was throw back by its devastating force._

_Amazing._ _It seems that young Spyro is more resilient than I anticipated. Such raw power,_ he thought as his eyes widened in awe, _and for someone as inexperienced and youthful as he is. Perhaps Malefor is past his prime._

It was remarkable to watch Spyro, young as he is, accomplish such high feats of power. Why he was almost as powerful as Malefor himself.

Almost.

But how? How is it that the purple whelping be deemed a match for someone as experienced and ruthless as Malefor? What is he hiding?

That was when he sensed it. A familiar magic loomed over Spyro, and much to Haven's surprise, the darkness he loathed coursed through his body. A rejuvenating rush surged through him as he felt his strains and tensions vanished, ages of pain melting away into gentle relief. He grinned with malicious intent as his depressive thoughts turned about themselves.

Haven let out a steady stream of deep purple fire and fixed his gaze firmly upon it. He focussed his mind on controlling it, fuelling the flame with his mind. Closing his maw, he watched it with deep intent as it hung in the air seemingly of its own accord, as though held up by an invisible bracket. Purple light dimly flickered in his eyes as it sluggishly drained his own reservoir of magic. The flames dissipated just as he relinquished his mental hold, his lips curling with grim satisfaction.

True, he may be limited by space and time, but now he could use his power without fear or constraint. With enough energy he would still be able to invoke his influences to Spyro, but it will require much cunningness and deception. The sort of work that favours a scalpel instead of a sword.

Haven turned his eyes back to Spyro after several moments had passed, his deceptively lifeless body lay deep inside in a narrow, steep, ravine. He had a good feeling about Spyro; unlike that he felt for Malefor who only desired the essence of his power for his imprudent, flawed, and pitiful plan for destruction. Perhaps Spyro was not a lost cause like his purple predecessors, but Haven had no doubt as to how vigilant and cautious he may be now than his younger, naïve self. It may prove to be tedious and challenging work, but Haven was convinced he would soon be able to bend Spyro to his will. In order to earn his trust, he would to reach out to him, _and what better way to do that, than to give him the answers he so desperately seeks,_ he mused.

_This shouldn't be too hard. It may prove to be a great deal of time, but it would have well been worth it. Spyro has a right to know who he is, at the very least. Once I have earned his allegiance, he'll learn where his true loyalties lies._

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**Disclaimer: I do not own the Spyro franchise. Rights and claims belong to Activision**

**I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, I enjoyed writing it considering it's my first story entry. **

**Please review to let me know how I did so that I'll be able to better construct the next chapter. **

**I welcome valid and well-reasoned opinions on my work.**

**'Till next time.**


	2. A Dragonfly's Trials

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places that belong to the Spyro franchise. All rights and claims belong to Activision.**

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II

A Dragonfly's Trials

"Sparx! SPARX!" yelled a voice that cracked through the air like a whip, causing a golden dragonfly to jump back in shock.

"What? Who?" Sparx asked, looking frantically around the tent for the source of the aggravated tone.

"Down here you pint-sized prick," the voice growled. Sparx slowly lowered his gaze to find a mole of average height. He was sporting a pair of black trousers, a striped vest, and brass specs that were as round as the moons themselves. Sparx supposed he would have looked sharp, if he wasn't covered head to toe in dirt.

"Oh, it's only you Trevor. Get back to me when it's my shift why don't cha? I'm still pretty early," Sparx replied coolly, turning his back. Trevor only rolled his eyes as he reached for a golden chain, dangling from his vest pocket.

"Fifteen minutes ago that might have been true," he growled in a low tone as he pulled out a gilded pocket watch and clicked it open. Trevor held it so close in front of Sparx there was only an inch of space between them. He pointed a long claw at its ticking hands. Sparx grunted as he tried to avert his gaze from Trevor's piercing glare.

"I swear that thing moves faster than it should," he muttered.

"Maybe _you_ oughta move faster, instead of dozing off every now and then with your head in the clouds," Trevor grumbled, "When you took on this job, you said you had no trouble coming in at crack o' dawn. But I'm startin' to doubt that now to be honest. Now will you _please_ stop messing about and get ready? I've got a new order for you. Hang on".

_Sheesh, who shit in his coffee this morning?_ Sparx wondered, glaring back at Trevor while he wasn't looking, _don't get your fur all caught up in a bunch over little ol' me._

Trevor rummaged around the inside of his vest, looking for an order form of some sort supposedly. Sparx busied himself by looking around Trevor's personal tent, it wasn't much. The project manager had assigned tents like these to all the foremen, Trevor being one of them. The white sheets hung low, but tall enough for someone of a mole's stature. That floor was made of wooden planks, still stained with mud and grime. Against one side, a brown cot lay just beside the open entrance. At the foot of it, a trunk resided. Most of its contents were unknown to Sparx as he only caught glimpses of it. Facing the opposite side, an assortment of scrolls and parchment lay atop a small office desk in a chaotic fashion, splattered with tiny drops of ink. "Ah here it is," he said, bringing Sparx back to his attention.

"Smaller than usual, but they'll know its official. Give it to Travis," he explained, handing Sparx a small roll of parchment sealed with a red ribbon.

"Metal works down at the docks right? No problem," Sparx said as he held it firmly in his tiny hand, the scroll was almost as tall as he was.

"And be quick it about!" Trevor said menacingly through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing. Sparx only snickered at this despite his own size; a mole just isn't the sort of the creature whose threats you would take seriously.

"Please, you're talking to the golden dragonfly of legend. I can make it across the city and back in about five minutes," he boasted, puffing his chest out with his hands on his sides.

"Just clear off will you," Trevor groaned, clearly annoyed by his antics.

"Say no more, heading off,"

"Remember! The day's only just begun! And you've got a lot of work ahead of you!" And with that Sparx left the construction tent just outside the main gate of Warfang. He shivered slightly as he met the cold and crisp morning air, hinting that summer was coming to an end.

With remarkable ease, he scaled across the city's massive walls and made his way towards the eastern district. Ever since the war's end, he had been able to admire to sights of Warfang without the constant fear of facing a fifty foot tall demon composed of fire and brimstone.

The sun was just visible as it sat on the horizon, casting beams of light through the thin mist that hung over the city, giving it a warm rosy glow. As it rose the sky became a glorious shade of deep blue, the calm colors of the night before mixing with the intense rays of the sun. It was nothing short of breath taking for Sparx.

The streets were bustling with moles as Sparx zipped his way though at breakneck speed like a small comet. He never paid as much as a second glance to those who looked up with gaping eyes.

"Ah, Riverside Harbor," he said, taking in a fresh breath of air, "Nothing quite like the smell of burning coal in the morning."

The harbor was one of the most labor frequent operations in Warfang at the moment. Vast ocean liners were docked in the ports that stretched far across the river bank. The foundry towered over many of the docking stations beside it, smoldering black clouds escaping from its high smokestacks.

As Sparx made his way over he noticed that the moles were caught up in a variety of toilsome tasks. Those residing on the ships were either moving barrels and crates out onto the deck from the level below, ensuring the strength of the rigging that held the sails, or oiling the masts. As for those on the port, they were found moving cargo into private storage houses, trading for supplies with other moles, or tending to the maintenance of ship's exterior.

Just as Sparx was about to enter through one of the foundry's roll shutter doors, a strange vessel, docked right outside the metal works caught his eye. It was unlike any other ship he had seen before, the entire hull was plated with metal rather than wood. Out on the top deck there was a tall cylinder that stood in the centre. Aside from this, it still carried the more common features of a ship such as a few masts, sails, and cannons. _Well there's something you don't see every day_, he thought _then again I've seen weirder crap to last me a life time, maybe two._

Upon entering the doorway, he was met by an endless racket and an oppressive heat. The cries of the workers were drowned out by the constant rhythmic ringing of metal being stuck. Sparx felt his insides shake with every loud _Clang!_

A sudden violent hiss made him jump back slightly as molten cast iron was poured into molds, organized into columns. Glowing embers shot into the air and swirled into a fiery dance before dying out. Near the far end of the foundry, Sparx saw a giant furnace that held a blazing inferno behind its steel bars that spat out flames at random, casting a vibrant orange glow within the foundry.

"Oi! Sparx! Up Here!" A gravelly voice bellowed over the racket of the metal works. Sparx looked up towards the rafters to find a mole waving cheerily at him through the grated floor. Sparx returned a smile as he flew up to the catwalk.

"Travis, how you doing pal? Workers givin' you any trouble?" Sparx asked in forcibly louder voice. Travis let out a booming laugh.

"Haven't complained yet have they? I only trust that it's Trevor who hasn't given you too much trouble,"

"Honestly, if you didn't tell me you two were brothers, I would have thought otherwise," Sparx replied, noticing that Travis was wearing a similar attire to Trevor's.

Travis was considerably warmer than Trevor when it came to dealing with their workers. His cheery nature was something that Sparx took an instant liking to, whether it was singing old sea shanties at the top of his voice or telling stories about unfortunate mishaps that led to minor injuries. It was clear that many of the workers liked him. Though despite this, Sparx heard from one of the workers himself that Travis had a short fuse when it came to dealing with lazy employees. Sparx decided it would be wise to not find out about this firsthand.

"Ah he's always been like that ever since the war, the fella's never let up with his attitude", explained Travis, and then he folded his arms and dropped his voice to low cold demeanour "_Grr, I've got my work. Grr, I've got my life. Grr and the two shall never meet._" Sparx, quite amused by this, stifled a laugh. "Never once came 'round the tavern for a drink or to share a laugh with the lads. He always says he's got to _work_,"

"Oh pish pash, life's too short to be deprived of small pleasures," said Sparx.

"My thoughts exactly. Anyways," his voice adopting a more business like tone "yah need something?"

"Oh! Yeah! That's right!" Sparx remembered, "Trevor needs a new shipment of construction materials as usual. I've got the order right here, details and everything," he finished, handing the scroll to Travis, to which he then stowed it inside his pocket.

"Alright then, let's get to it. Follow me," he ordered, rubbing his paws together. The pair of them headed down the catwalk and up a flight of half landing stairs. On the floor above they made their way towards a small alcove in the brick wall. Upon turning to it, a round steel door was revealed, with a red valve in its centre. Trevor firmly placed his paws on the valve and strained as he turned it anti-clockwise. Sparx watched with curiosity as the door slowly opened, groaning with every inch as its hinges turned.

"The door essentially acts as an airlock for the offices, blocking out the fumes and embers. It makes work less troublesome for the workers in here; being able to think with a clear head and not having to worry about documents being caught on fire," he explained, sighing as he was met with cooler air.

In spite of Sparx's frequent visits to the foundry, this was the first time he entered the office centre. The floor was composed of a hard stone as were the walls, except for a wide window frame that extended across the room, allowing for a clear view of the harbor below. Two rows of beautifully furnished desks sat in the room, Sparx counted six in total. They were occupied by five moles operating typewriters. They remained stoic as Travis entered, giving no indication they had noticed him. However, a couple of them looked up to glance at Sparx, but quickly resumed their work.

"Here we are," said Travis as he made his way towards the only vacant desk. He first drew a fresh document, then lifted a lever on the side of the machine as he placed the sheet onto the carriage. "Let's see now, what do we have," he muttered as his beady eyes turned back and forth from Sparx's order to the typewriter, punching in keys at a steady pace "two hundred steel beams…needed before end of month…quantity in each shipment...method of payment…gold…total sum…estimated delivery…ah there we are," finally filling out the last required fields of information.

"That all?" asked Sparx.

"Yeah, that's about it," Travis assured, he then proceeded to roll up the document and tie it with a small ribbon. "Try not to lose it on the way over, only then who knows what'll come to you by Trevor's hand,"

Sparx snorted, taking the document in his clenched hand "Pfff, as if he can scare me. He should be glad to know I'm holding back on the ol' one two!" He exclaimed, jabbing the empty air with his miniscule arms. Sparx then flew over to the window, and lifted open one of the glass panes.

"Hey I'll catch you later Travis! I gotta head back to the construction site! Trev's got me playing errand boy for the rest of the day!"

"Ha! You'll do best to not let him hear you say that!" he laughed, and with that Sparx took off, ready to face yet another long day.

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"Oh Ancestors Almighty, I seriously need to consider retirement," Sparx yawned, blinking his bleary eyes, "at least I've got the day off tomorrow."

Whatever light remained in the sky that evening was engulfed by darkness. Stars began to materialize in the darkened ocean above. The moons rose from behind the hills ahead in a slow accession.

The city always looked different to Sparx at night. It was as if their daytime counterparts had fallen to sleep and more ominous versions of themselves took their places, covered in a veil of blackness. Not a single soul lingered in the streets that night.

Sparx looked on as he made his way to the city's Temple grounds. The Guardians had granted him permission to use the Temple gardens as a home for the meantime. Occasionally he would catch sight of them striding through the halls at a rather fast pace, often too busy to stop for a chat. On the instance he did catch them, he would ask whether or not they had discovered any sign of Spyro. The answer was always the same "I'm afraid not Sparx," and upon seeing his reaction "I assure you we are hard at work searching for them. For now the trail seems cold and our resources are just stretched too far thin," Terrador would reply solemnly in his deep rumbling voice, "they're out there, we mustn't lose faith in them just yet".

Seeing as he had nothing better to do, Sparx requested that the Guardians make use of his talents to help them anyway he can. It was decided that Sparx would take the role of a messenger for the construction party, being that he can travel great distances quite quickly for someone his size. Day after day he would fly across the city running messages for contractors, suppliers, managers and engineers. Volteer assured him that it was not an insignificant contribution to the effort of Warfang's reconstruction, but it wasn't an easy task by any means either.

Evidently this was true, as the first couple days had proven to be hectic at most. It resulted in him receiving a heated lecture as to why watermelons don't make for effective projectiles, and while cannonballs are rich with iron, they don't agree too well with a mole's diet. Since then, Sparx worked hard on paying attention to vital information.

The gardens very much resembled a carpet of flowers with a few cobblestone paths that strode through. There were a variety of luscious colors and shapes that slowly swayed in the gentle wind. In the centre was a small island surrounded by a glistening pool of water that flowed from the lake leading outside the city's walls through a grate. On the island sat a great willow with soft lavender leaves. The branches served as a comfortable sleeping spot Sparx in the time he had been here.

After he found his usual spot, Sparx absentmindedly twiddled his thumbs while he gazed outside the city's walls. The silhouette of a dark crude mountain was just visible in the moonlight. His eyes never left the peak of Malefor's mountain.

It was almost unnerving, looking at the mountain that had served as his prison, waking up to be caught in the midst of an all-out war. Just watching it filled him with a sense of unease and worry. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering whether it would be worth a shot to leave the city to look for them. He told himself he should only be prepared to be disappointed, considering his past efforts.

What if he wasn't coming back? What if he chose to never come back? Would he leave his only brother?

No of course not, while there were many occasions he and Spyro argued (as countless siblings have done and always will), it surely wouldn't be enough for him to want to leave. Would it? What if something happened? What if he was dead?

Now he was just being stupid, only nine days had passed and he already assumed the worst for his brother. He wasn't going to carry on like this, moping about, drowning himself in sorrow. Spyro wouldn't want that, he would have preferred Sparx to enjoy his time out here.

_Damn it, what am I thinking. The guy's probably just enjoying a nice little break and he'll be back before I know it. Probably with Cynder, somewhere warm with the sand in his feet, sipping on one of those fruity drinks with the umbrella in 'em._

It brought an amusing image of Spyro to his mind; he was wearing a straw hat and a wreath of flowers around his neck, drinking out of a coconut shell with a tiny umbrella, on the shores of some tropical island. Sparx let out a small short chuckle, but it was short lived.

Returning his gaze to mountain, he mind was filled of thoughts of a muck filled swamp, purple scales, and happier days. Sparx sighed wistfully as he silently wondered what the next day may bring.

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**Hope you enjoyed it,**

**Please review to let me know how I did so that I'll be able to better construct the next chapter.**

**I welcome valid and well-reasoned opinions on my work.**

**'Till next time.**


	3. Ascension

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that belong to the Spyro franchise. All rights and claims belong to Activision**

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III

Ascension

Sunlight seeped into the corner of Spyro's eyes, cracking his dry lids open for what felt like the first time in ages. With all the swiftness of a slug he rolled over to his side and draped a wing over his face in a feeble attempt to hide from its intense gaze, but it was no use. Strips of light streamed the orange membrane of his wings, casting a warm glow over his vibrant scales.

"Oh for the love of…" he groaned with frustration as sharp rays glared into his wincing eyes.

"Might as well get up," he yawned with a hint of reluctance. He shook off his leaden weights and rose to his feet, thoroughly stretching out his sore limbs. With a low grunt he arched his tired back forwards as it strained with tension. Many of his rigid joints and claws unfurled to their full extent, accompanied by several cracks and a sigh of relief. His lids began to droop again with grogginess before he snapped them open.

Spyro soon became of aware of the damp air and its lush, loamy fragrance that tickled his nostrils. He felt oddly nourished as the cool atmosphere softly caressed his scales. The ground he had slept on was hard, gritty and unforgiving. It was a deathly cold to the touch. Unable to see past the blurry haze that obscured his vision, he blinked his bleary eyes as they were brought into sharper focus. Yet as he took in his surroundings, Spyro immediately faltered.

He felt his heart fail for a moment and stumbled back on his haunches. He rubbed his watery eyes with his vigorous paws and looked again.

The air around him taken by a thick mist, it was as dull a pale grey as the stone floor beneath him. The hazy mist casted curls of white smoky air that swallowed his surroundings, making distance and landscape impossible to fathom. A grey void, boundless and bare, that knew nothing but cold desolation.

"Where the hell am I?" His words trailed on into the dense air that remained still in an unnatural dead silence. He was met a strange tingling sensation in the bone of his spine that put his nerves on edge. As though an invisible spider crawled along his back with pinprick legs. A ghastly shudder passed over him as heat abandoned him in an instant.

It was an almost foreboding atmosphere, warning him of some unforeseen danger, but he sensed no presence than his own.

And then he realised, that there was an absence of presence.

_Cynder._

"Cynder? Cynder, are you there?" he called as his breath rose into puffs of white vapour.

No one replied.

Drawing in a shaky breath he called again "Hello? Anyone?" but the mist did nothing to answer.

Spyro sighed longingly, wishing that he at least had some company in this bleak place.

What is the place? Where was Cynder? And why was he here? He racked his brains, trying to remember what had happened, but everything was just a blurry haze. All he remembered was the sound of crushing stone thundering against his ears, a deep voice cackling with malice, a flash of purple light and then nothing…

_No that wasn't it, there was something else just before that, _he considered, _a voice. Was it Cynder's? What did she say? _

He pressed his brain for some memory, a clue, a hint, anything! But it was a though he was met with a solid wall that barred his mind. His brain felt overwhelmed with the strain of thinking as it felt unusually new, raw, and fresh. With a sigh he let these thoughts drift aside as he couldn't make sense of them. He believed his best chance was to go forth and hope for something to cross his way, to soon find some end to this grey abyss.

_I hope she's alright._

_She has to be._

He spurred through the mist with sharpened eyes, looking for someone or something that might help him find his way. The sound of his talons, lightly scratching the floor, followed him. Every step pulled more heat from his paws as biting cold seeped its way into his toes and spread through the marrow of his bones.

_Maybe a bit of fire will warm things up a bit¸ _he considered and inhaled deeply. Concentrating on the feeling of heat rising in his lungs, he focused his energy as he spat out a few measly embers. Spyro looked back in surprise and tried again but only produced a vapour a black smoke with a few sparks of flame. He tried again only to find nothing escape his mouth at all.

_Damnit! That battle must have used every last ounce of my power! _

He shivered in response as he wrapped his wings around his body and stamped out his feet to throw off the cold. This only gave him little comfort as he pressed on with a bitter shrug. The sun he first thought annoying brought him little life as it nibbled his cheeks with warmth. Albeit meager, it at least slightly improved about his situation. He only wondered how long it would be until powers return, and hoped that he wouldn't have to use them before then.

Walking on, Spyro took this moment to reminisce on his past and thought of times that were simple and less dangerous. The prospect of living as a dragonfly was carefree and boundless, but all that was taken away ever since that faithful night he discovered he was not in fact a dragonfly. Since then he had faced hardships and accomplished feats no one could expect of his age, purple dragon of legend or not. Striving for some end that would eventually lead to peace he desperately longed for.

Maybe, just maybe, after he found his way out he could go back and settle down somewhere. Live a normal life among dragons he had been deprived of since birth. But what was normal for him anymore? The powers he wielded, worthy to compare to that of some divine being, would remain as his burden until the day he dies. He was a fool if he truly thought he could escape what others would expect of him.

To imagine a lifetime of ceaseless duty was not an outlook Spyro was too keen on, and at the same time, vaguely make out. What did seem likely beneath the uncertainty was that should he arrive to Warfang, he would face years of training, honing his skills for whatever purpose the Guardians had in mind. Perhaps a school of some sort. Along the likes of which Spyro had attended under the supervision of Ignitus, but under less life-threatening circumstances.

It was a prospect Spyro would confront with little enthusiasm, but as such was his responsibility nonetheless. He almost thought himself selfish for wanting to tear away from his duty. Besides, he had friends in Warfang, and they were probably waiting for his return. Maybe even Cynder was among them.

At least the thought of seeing her again would make this journey, however long, all the more bearable. He never thought about it till now, but something about her just put his mind at ease. A moment never passed where he ceased picturing that radiant face with that sparkling smile. It was in that instance he considered himself fortunate to have a friend like Cynder. Just thinking about her filled his chest with an almost unbearable warmth, but it was strangely pleasant in some way.

As he pondered, there was a distinct sound in the distance, causing his stomach to clasp itself with cold iron bands.

It was the sound of a metal blade trailing along stone.

A tremor bolted up Spyro's spine as his heart leapt with a painful shock. It became abundantly clear, that whoever was prowling within the dark concealment of fog, they were near. Whether friend or foe, he would only have a short time to react.

Spyro took a low defensive stance and practically grazed the ground with his belly. He bared his fangs menacingly as he waited. His heart pounded against his ribcage in anticipation as he silently hoped they were friendly. Holding his breath steady his eyes peered through for any sign of movement. His claws clenched against the stone in tense silence. Bunching the muscles in his legs in readying to lash out.

Only then, did a high, cold voice break the silence.

"This will only take a moment Spyro."

Without warning, there was a flash of black steel.

Before he knew it, icy talons erupted from the fog. As they dug into Spyro's scalp, a sudden bolt of stabbing pain shot through his skull. He fell to his knees, screaming with the intense agony that threatened to split his head open. Fiery bursts of pain pulsed through his brain, amplifying with every second. His assailant proceeded to thrust his claws deeper.

"Don't resist, it'll be over soon enough."

His eyes burned as his vision was swallowed up by a blaze of hot light. A sudden violent flash, and his mind was drawn into oblivion.

Spyro's stomach sickened at the musty smell of blood that clogged his nostrils, the foul taste of bile rising to his mouth. Smolder and ash filled the air as it choked his lungs, the blaring sound of cannons and magical attacks pounded against his ears. Spyro's eyes widened in horror at the chaos brewing before him. Warfang was under siege.

Fire ignited into a ball of flame as it leapt into the air and hailed down its blazing fury on most of the city, charring the once tall, magnificent structures with its unruly mark. The explosion rang in his ears like a resounding barrage as the raging inferno roared on, belching up smoke that filled the skies with black clouds. Moles and dragons alike panicked as they ran through the entrance courtyard, trying to escape the brutal tide of grublins and orcs that flooded the city. A yell tore Spyro's eyes towards the battlements.

"HOLD THE LINE! DEFEND THE CATAPULT! IT'S OUR ONLY CHANCE OF DEFENSE!"

Siege towers had already breached the city's walls as the moles were desperately attempting to hold back against the onslaught of the foul creatures. As much as Spyro tried to look away, the deafening sound of blazing fire and magical explosions couldn't block out the ear-splitting screams of pain that were ripped from the jaws of moles, moments before they were silenced. Blood showered his purple scales, painting them crimson as limbs and heads flew through the air, splattering the battlements with gore.

Spyro step backed in fright as the head of an unfortunate mole rolled to his feet. Blood spurted from the corner of his mouth and now severed neck, his lip trembled pathetically as he let out a shallow rasping breath. His white, opaque eyes stared into the stars above, glossy with tears. Blood continued to rain from the base of his neck, glistening the stone with dark red. Death finally took him as he became still, and moved no more.

Cracks split open in the earth and spewed a river of magma into the courtyards of the city. The grublins pushed on with their merciless charge through the city, paying the purple no attention.

The drake felt his veins fill themselves with ice at the sight of Warfang's destruction. With another violent flash, invisible hands took hold of him and thrust him forwards. Pressure forced itself on all sides of his body, iron bands choking the air out of his lungs.

A fast flurry of memories surged through Spyro's mind, leaving him absolutely vulnerable to the pain and sickening dread that he wanted nothing more than for it to end. They gained momentum, mounting fear, racing through his eyes faster and faster until they became a blur of bright and vivid images. Its relentless assault proved to be too overwhelming for the purple drake, turning him helpless. It was torture.

His heart exploded with fury as Ignitus was taken by flames. Desolation consumed him and filled his mind with icy loneliness. His jawbones were clenched, fighting back the urge to yell as Malefor's long black talons slashed against his flank, his claws soaked in red. His legs trembled before they finally collapsed after he released a feeble blast of convexity, fatigue overtaking him. His body cried in burning agony as every atom was being torn apart by a blinding purple light before pulling him into darkness.

Then, there was nothing but the calmness of the void.

Most of his pain was now subsided, slowly washed away in a gentle tide of relief, save for some small discomfort. The darkness lifted its curtains from his eyes as soft light now flowed through. When Spyro looked up, his gaze was met with a tall, black dragon towering over him. It was a height so tall, only Terrador could hope to match his stature.

His slender but lean body was hidden under a thin veil of black smoke, inky tendrils of darkness curling off every inch of his body. All except for his eyes that glowed a hot white. Onyx spikes protruded from his shoulders and flanks, and ran along his back, stretching far to the end of his three piece tail blade, almost reminiscent of a silver trident. The features of his face seemed to scream out sinister and malice, and yet they appeared young. Forever where they fixed in a slight scowl. His impassive lips were detached of any feeling.

A grim air hung over him.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice held no emotion. Only when the purple dragon realized that it was him who pulled him into those harrowing depths did his mind tick.

"What The **Hell** Was That?" Spyro snapped with bitterness to his tone. A groan leaked through his clenched jaws as he rose up. He clutched his stomach with a paw as nausea swelled inside his gut. His brain still throbbed violently.

"A little nudge," he said calmly. Spyro felt his lilac eyes tighten with anger. The phenomenon he experienced was almost painful beyond measure, but he would hate himself for giving any sign of weakness. Spyro could tell, that whoever this dragon was, he would make an unyielding opponent. It would be best to remain wary of him.

"A little too intense for a nudge don't you think?" he retorted through gritted teeth, rubbing his forehead forcefully as though it would dull the throbbing sensation.

"Spyro, I assure you my intentions would not allow for you to be placed in any real danger. I simply thought you needed a little push to help you remember. Apart from that, I'm here to offer you what little aid I can," he said blankly, his eyes boring deep into Spyro's.

Spyro only narrowed his eyes further as he took a step back. He was not yet convinced at the word of someone he had just met, let alone someone who had just put him through that ordeal.

"Who are you?" he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

"That, is of little importance."

"Why's that?" Spyro asked suspiciously.

"Because I descend from a time of great antiquity, from which lies a great divergence amid my era and your own, in more ways than you can imagine."

As Spyro took several moments to process this, he only continued to stare at the stranger as though he had sprouted an extra head. When he finally understood what he had meant, he raised his brow in doubt.

"You don't appear that old," Spyro observed.

"Yes, I don't," he said dimly.

An awkward silence feel between them. The muscles in Spyro's turned rigid as his face narrowed into a scowl. The dragon's piercing gaze never left his amethyst eyes, as much as Spyro tried to look away. He measured the facts he had amassed so far in masked confusion, but they were too lacking to even consider this dragon trustworthy. He was tempted to walk away, but this dragon may be his only hope of leaving this lonely place. He finally gave up and asked the stranger.

"Fine," he said wearily, "but tell me, what is this place?"

"Allow me to clear up things for you," he said as he spanned his powerful wings open to their full extent. The membrane of his wings began to glow with an eerie purple light, one that was all too familiar to Spyro. He slightly recoiled at the sight of it as fear crept up his neck, but he quickly suppressed it. The dragon only flapped his wings once, sending a warm gale of wind blowing across his scales. The fog was lifted.

Spyro immediately took notice of where he stood. He was back in the Dragon Temple, underneath the sky dome of the training dojo, or so he thought. Where a wall would have stood, hanging a bright red banister, was torn out. Upon looking through it, his eyes turned as wide as saucers. Only Convexity could rival to place in oddity.

Floating islands were scattered across space in a chaotic fashion, held up by some invisible force. What intrigued Spyro the most, was that these islands bore the appearance of places he's been to before. But they were not complete, these were more fragments than full renditions of their Dragon Realm counterparts. It was though someone had pulled them out from their roots from the earth, and suspended them here like a hatchling's mobile. Ever so slowly they moved in orbit. The opaque sky gave no indication of night or day.

"Where are we?" he asked quietly, still enthralled by its rarity. His eyes followed a shattered remnant of the black fortress of Dante's Freezer, just as how he remembered it. Ebony armor and bones lay in a frozen crumpled heap. Weaponry and equipment were coated in thick seal of ice. Thick stone walls stretched as far they could before meeting the ends of the levitating island. Curved spikes covered their ledges in an archaic pattern like crude black splinters.

"The Void. An infinite vacuum of space that knows not time and has fathomless meaning and purpose. Thoughts and memories pass away and are rendered here. Not necessarily empty as others perceive it to be, but rather lacking of universal material. Everything you see here, memories if you will, merge inwards and are formed out of the substance of thought."

"Then why am I here?" he asked, returning his eyes to the dragon, still perplexed at his current state.

"Because I summoned you here," he replied. Spyro's sharp eyes glared back at him.

"Then why you have sought me out?" He demanded, but the stranger was not swayed by his animosity in the slightest.

"Because aside from being a purple dragon, you have proven to be quite an interesting individual. For that reason, I offer you a gift."

Spyro was slightly caught off guard by this, and immediately took a mental note of it. As much as he hated to admit it, he could not deny that he wasn't curious as to what this dragon had to offer, but there had to be a drawback of sort. Some defect he wouldn't recognise right away, something that would only grow troublesome over time. He would have to be careful to exercise caution with this dragon. From what he had seen so far, Spyro silently feared what else this stranger could be capable of.

The black dragon began to walk around Spyro as he went on, circling him as a hunter would his prey. His white, beaming eyes never left his own.

"You are right in your own way Spyro, you are not like that of Malefor nor his predecessors, despite the true nature of what you are. You intrigue me in many ways-"

"Predecessors?" Spyro hesitated, and his thoughts shifted instantly from the present to that night in the Dark Master's Lair. He remembered that low voice that resonated like the chorus of a thousand demons, filled with malevolence and bitter hatred.

_You may have been told I was the first of our kind, but I assure you. There were many before me_.

His words may have been sincere, but were they true?

"You mean there are others?" he asked again through a colourless expression that did not reach his eyes, filled with the innocence and curiosity of a new born hatchling.

"Yes. There were others, and eager you may be to learn of them, and truth of what you are, you will. Soon." He finished with a tenor of finality, his firm gaze never wavering. Spyro frowned as his patience was growing short. He slightly taken aback by this response and simply refused to conform until he had some answers. He curled his purple lips into a sneer.

"Why?" he began to protest, "Why later? Why should I trust you if-" but before he could finish, a held paw silenced him.

"Truth and knowledge cannot be delivered to in a single statement Spyro, especially when our world is based on dualism, reverses and hypocrisy."

The dragon then pointed a barbed wing towards the open gap in the temple's wall and gazed intently in the space onward. Spyro merely followed his eyes.

"Take this Void. It cannot be comprehended in the setting of a classroom taught through old fools that have discovered its existence through science and proclaimed its purpose through metaphysics. The very fools who claim themselves to be the great keepers of all knowledge and only concern themselves with the rustic tools of their trade."

He paused for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes as though to recompose himself.

"No," he breathed softly, before turning his illuminous eyes back to Spyro, "it must be dwelt on as unbounded and immaterial, formless and without relation."

Something about his monotonous voice unnerved Spyro, as though there were a certain edge to it. He could have sworn he detected some overtone beneath his dead expression. It was almost hostility.

"You are not unintelligent Spyro, but there is so much you have yet to learn. In due time you will. I only ask that you momentarily hold your tongue."

Spyro merely did so as he raised a curious brow. It was not of restraint, but more so bewilderment of this stranger's indefinite explanation. He was taken into a dumbfounded stupor, carefully concealed through defiance. Yet somehow, he oddly knew what he meant and felt a strange sense of belonging he couldn't recognize.

"As I was saying, where others will strike and make rash judgement, you showed restraint when necessary and placed faith in the one soul others would have sought to end."

"Where others would have given in to ease their suffering, you pressed on and saw your intentions through. Where you have failed, you made up for in your actions at great personal risk. The 'Saviour of the Realms' they now call you."

Spyro maintained a tense silence. In any other circumstance he would have been flattered to be praised by someone who directly approached him. He only held his dark expression as he went on.

"Such nobility in anyone, _especially_ for someone of your kind, is rare indeed. Unfortunately you are not as pure of heart as others claim you to be. You have been subjected to an ancient force that now resides within you."

"I don't quite follow. What do you mean by ancient force?" Spyro asked, an almost puzzled look crossed his face. The dragon merely continued as though to clarify his cryptic ramblings.

"You see Spyro, the purple dragon can not only wield the four base elements, but all elements that construct the world, and ultimately the cosmos. Your ability to harness the energy of these powers is seemingly limitless, making you a destructive force of nature. Yet, if not harnessed carefully, the innate power leaves your kind vulnerable to the influence of darkness."

"Can you think of such a time in your past? While you thought you were conscience and in control of your actions, yet you acted in a manner of character that is almost alien to you?"

This question stuck Spyro with realisation and awakened memories long forgotten. He was taken back to the dreadful night, deep within the Mountain of Malefor. He remembered that bright surge of energy coursing through his veins like fire. Augmenting every one of his abilities, reducing that lifeless statue of Gaul to pebbles in an effortless matter of seconds. He had never felt such power, he almost felt boundless.

Then he remembered with a pang of guilt, he had almost turned on his friends. He had come so close to slaying them and he would have done it without as much as a second thought. It was daunting that he could just simply disregard the lives of others as though they were nothing. If Cynder hadn't been there, he may not have stayed his paw.

"You refer to this ancient influence as darkness, believing it to be a creation of Malefor's, when in fact it is my own."

"With every passing day, its grasp on your mind grows at a slow but steady pace. There are such instance where if you let your emotions overwhelm you, it will temporarily take hold on you, rendering your conscience useless."

"Many have desperately tried to grasp the potential of my power only to lead to their destruction. You cannot sever the bonds it holds on you, without destroying yourself, but I wish to help."

"I can teach you in the ways of the Dark unlike any dragon can imagine, to sharpen your skills and amplify your powers. I can help you master it and aid you in unlocking powers you never thought yourself capable of. I can show you how to control it and use its power to full effect, leaving your mind intact."

"My gift, to you."

Spyro merely eyed him suspiciously for a moment.

"And what do you want in return?"

"Nothing. What you make of it, is entirely up to you."

Spyro was slightly surprised by this. An interesting proposition as it was, he couldn't afford to let this one slip away. Twice he had let his mind grow weak and let darkness plague his mind. If what this dragon said was true, then how long until it takes over him again? A twinge of regret pulled at his heart as he thought of Cynder and Sparx. He made a silent vow to never let any harm come to them again. He swallowed down the lump of fear swelling inside his throat and strained to force his words through in a barely audible whisper.

"I accept your offer," he said solemnly.

"Good."

The drake was caught abruptly by surprise as he heard a sharp crack behind him. Startled by this he jumped back. Violet fire spilled through the stone floor. It quickly raced around him, creating a full ring of flickering purple flames within the dojo. They casted a vibrant purple glow on the black dragon's already sinister features.

"What's happening?" He dare asked.

"A test, to see how well you can perform under duress."

Several apes appeared in a bright flash of light. Decayed, grey fur covering their disgusting skin. Through patches of revealed skin Spyro could spot numerous warts of a sickly green. The revolting beasts were just as ugly as he remembered them. Spyro's nostrils wrinkled in distaste as he was met a familiar, putrid smell; his face contorted from the grungy scent.

He shrugged off the smell with a hot aired grunt and turned his attention back to the apes that were brandishing their wickedly sharp weapons and banging their metal covered fists on their chests encased in obsidian armor. Spyro glowered as they taunted and howled at him, taking this as a gesture of challenge.

"I'll just have to make do without the elements."

He made ready to pounce at the ape right in front of him, expecting a direct assault as it leered at the drake with its beady eyes. Spyro could feel the muscles in his legs tighten as he lowered himself.

"Bring it."

The ape let loose with a roar as he bolted straight for the purple drake, spear clutched in hand, marked straight for his golden chest. Spyro merely smirked at his foolish choice to attack head on where he can clearly anticipate it. _Blind idiot, _he thought, _any fool can see that from a yard away._

Spyro mustered his strength and sprang through the air with the vigorous force of his wings and legs, claws outstretched, aimed for the small patch of exposed skin just above the ape's metal collar. The ape abruptly halted his ground and aimed the spear towards his heart, expecting the purple to dive straight at him, but Spyro had anticipated as much. Just a moment away from impalement, Spyro swerved to the side, scarcely avoiding the tip by inches. With a swift slash across his neck, talons met flesh and Spyro gracefully landed behind him unscathed. The sound of gurgling reached his ears only a moment later, and he knew the ape would learn a slow death for his idiocy.

Spyro cocked his head towards the black dragon with a subtle grin.

"You know," he said before turning his head back to the apes, "I was expecting more of a-" but he was sharply interrupted when an unforeseen weight struck his chest with savage force. Spyro let out a suffocating gasp of pain while his vision spun in a frantic flurry. He braced for the impact of the unforgiving stone as he was sent tumbling across the floor. Trying to ignore the burning sensation as he lay there on his back, he struggled to rise to his feet. He blinked his watery eyes furiously, when a strangled pant of breath escaped his lungs as a burly, hairy mass stood on top of him.

"Ah son of a-" was all he could choke through before his assailant clasped his filthy hands around his throat. Spyro took in a ragged breath as his throat was being crushed under its vice-like grip. With every second its long, hairy fingers tightened their hold, pressing his neck hard against the floor. Thrashing desperately beneath him, he tried to strike at the ape but lacked the much needed room to draw back a blow. He dug his talons deep into the ape's breast, but even as red rivulets began to trickle from the wound he did not relent. Spyro's lungs burned painfully, the ape's beady eyes locked onto his own, gleaming with malice.

Praying to the ancestors, Spyro sucked in his lips and spat out a glob of saliva into the ape's eyes. This shortly distracted him and though his grip did not slacken, Spyro could sense his arms were no longer pressing him down. Taking quick advantage of this he reached towards his enemy's jugular with an open maw. The drake snapped his powerful jaws around the creature's neck and heaved back as far as he could. With the sound of tearing flesh he succeeded in ripping out the ape's jugular vein. The ape stumbled back as a river of black came pouring out of his exposed neck, splashing onto Spyro's face. A few moments later and the lowly soldier lay still in a pool of his own blood.

Spyro spat out its remains with bitter disgust, he failed to suppress a shudder from escaping his lungs as its putrid taste fouled his mouth. But then he remembered he had more pressing matters to attend to, such as the two apes now rushing towards him. Their swords high in the air, mounting force into their attacks. A vicious growl was torn from his teeth darkened with blood.

Drawing his tail back, the drake spun his body in a full circle. Using the momentum of his tail, he managed to lash out at their legs, causing them to stumble. Expecting them to dive headlong into the earth, Spyro almost faltered when he saw how quickly they regained balance. He quickly ducked underneath the deadly swing of a bastard sword and took swift retaliation as he sank his fangs into one of his attacker's vambraces. With vindictive force he swung the trapped arm of his current assailant and sent him crashing into the bodies of his comrades.

"Alright, no more messing around."

Spyro could sense his jaw grow increasingly sore with every attack, but his blood pumped with excitement he hadn't felt in ages. He could hear his heart hammer against his rib cage, sending surges of raw adrenaline coursing through his veins. He never thought his sense of hearing and seeing were ever as sharp as this. Now that he finally had a chance to stretch his legs, he seemed to be right at home in the heart of the battle, his eyes locked in a deadly glare filled with fierce determination.

Before the soldiers could recompose themselves, he tackled the first one that dare rise. With a vicious swipe of his claws he raked them across the surprisingly thin armour, marking three deep lacerations across his chest. With another sudden movement of his talons he plunged a bloodied claw into the thug's left eye. Spyro focused his gaze to the remaining apes that recovered their fallen weapons. With four apes surrounding him, Spyro hardly had any time to decide who to attack.

Before he could barely react, they lunged forward from all sides in unison with their ferociously lethal weapons. Spyro moved effortlessly to avoid their continuous attacks, musing about how he would might be able to turn the fight in his favour with a tailblade of his own. Spyro easily sidestepped the downswing of a spiked mace as it struck the stone with a resonating _CLANG_. He flung his neck to the side opposite to dodge the diagonal down stroke of an axe, moments away from where his head had been previously. Despite this he managed to sustain several blows wherever he left an opening, only his hastiness saved him.

Rearing back with a thrust of his wings, he shot forward with his horns low. Just seconds away from connecting a blow when a blur of black and silver rushed past him and he instantly felt the wind knocked right out of him.

A stone hammer struck the side of his rib cage, sending him sprawling across the floor. It flared with pain while he forced himself to stand with a snarl. He quickly jumped back from the jab of another's bladed polearm and sunk his clenched paw into the gut of its wielder. Then without thinking, he reeled back on his hind legs and smashed the front of his skull into the ape's, followed by a ferocious swipe down his groin. The ape let out a howl that rose eight octaves high clutched at what little remained of its organ, Spyro only grimaced at the thought its of castration.

A stifled groan leaked through his gritted teeth as his forehead began to seize up in pain from the strike. He felt his knuckles sting bitterly as he placed the pad of his paw on the floor. He winced with discomfort, noticing a small bead of blood trailing down the middle of his muzzle that shone a dark red, but fought on regardless. With three soldiers standing, he was certain the battle was in his favor, even with the lack of his elemental power.

Spyro rammed his horns in the stomach of an ape and proceeded to sweep his tail from underneath its feet. He whirled his body around rapidly and brought his tail down across its repulsive head with a crack. Narrowly dodging the swing of that same wretched hammer, he slashed his claws across the armor of its owner in a mad frenzy of swipes, the sound of screeching metal biting his ears.

The ape's comrade rushed forward to the aid of its brethren, holding the spear of one its fallen, its tip aimed low as his stomach. Spyro used both of his claws to hold up his mortally wounded friend. The ape only looked back in dismay as the lance sunk in the back of his friend's armour, impaling him. Spyro's heart was inches away from the tip. The ape struggled to dislodge the javelin buried deep within his ally, but not before Spyro was able to thrust a talon into his gut and twisted it with a nasty squelch. The creature expelled a river of flowing blood from its mouth before Spyro dragged it upwards inside his chest and pulled away his paw. He turned around wildly with his fangs revealed in a snarl, expecting an attack from behind, when he looked back in disbelief. All his enemies had been slain.

Spyro stood there panting from the thrill of the fight. His heart hammered sorely against his chest with raw adrenaline he was sure it would come bursting out. He only looked back to the black dragon, whose expression was indistinguishable from boredom. He spirits slightly fell at this, but he was slightly surprised that his scowl broke away. As if he had done anything as openhearted as relieving himself of that distinct frown.

"Interesting," he said softly, "You're style of fighting is unique, effective, but crude, inefficient and somewhat sloppy."

Spyro felt slightly disheartened at hearing this. He admitted that while it wasn't the best use of his fighting ability, he thought he performed almost commendably in a battle he did not expect nor allowed him the luxury of his elemental attacks.

"No matter, for someone who has never received sufficient training, you've performed satisfactory use of traditional rudiments and finished the deed."

"Thanks," replied Spyro, unaware of how heavy his breathing was.

"Forgive me," the dragon said stiffly and raised a paw. Spyro eyed it with precaution as it filled with an orb of pulsating red light. His purple scales emitted a thin red aura around the surface of his body, pulsing in unison to the red orb. Spyro let out a groan of pleasure as the tide of red washed over his scales with relief like he had never known it. Many of his cuts and scrapes appeared to have fresh scales sewn over them. Before Spyro could thank him properly, the dragon continued.

"Your fighting style still requires for much needed improvement, I expect it will present itself as of some short trifle before it can be remedied. But it shall be, in time."

Spyro looked up, unable to divide the lingering sound of confidence in his own abilities behind that mask of solid impassiveness.

"I only say this as you shown fierce determination both passively and aggressively, I have seen strength of mind and body in only one other dragon. I will teach you as I have taught her. Perhaps you will meet her one day."

Spyro almost dared to ask who this other dragoness was, but he thought better of it, somehow knowing he'd gain nothing from questioning him. He found it odd that someone else had been taught under his wing, and grew curious as to the circumstances of her situation in contrast to his own. Spyro noted that should he ever meet her, he would have to tread carefully.

"So where do we move on from here?" He asked, uncertain as to why he had to fight in the first place.

"We will work on the constitution of your mental state."

"Then what will you have me do?"

"Nothing," the black said blankly.

"What?" Spyro asked in mild surprise, it was an answer he wasn't expecting. He figured they would proceed immediately on from there, now only he wondered what his reasons were for delaying the teachings he generously offered.

"There is no need to begin with such haste, you've endured as much as it is, even for someone your age. No, you'll need time to recover. You are already aware that your powers have not yet returned."

Spyro acknowledged this with a stiff nod.

"In the meantime, I think it best you ought to return. I only leave you a warning. You may not know this yet, but you will play a pivotal role in the days to come. You will learn that your hardships have only just begun."

Spyro instantly perked up at this information. It seemed as though as he much as he would work to solve one problem, another would present itself with even more toilsome labour. He only could imagine what trials he would have to face when the time comes. _At least some insight is useful, _he thought indignantly.

"For now I leave you. We'll see each other again shortly."

With that the fog slowly crept back into his surroundings as the dragon turned his back on the purple drake, and walked away. Before he was almost out of sight, Spyro called out to him.

"Wait! I didn't get your name."

The dragon stopped but did not face himself towards Spyro.

"Is it really that necessary?"

"Well, I figured you should at least have a name I can use. If I need to call on you."

The dragon stood there for several moments, Spyro waited with the thinnest of patience.

"…You may call me… Haven."

As if saying the correct words, Spyro's environment suddenly shifted and he found himself lying in a grove. Above him powerful, ancient trees stood proudly above them, holding their emerald crowns high in the air. Rays of sunlight gently trickled upon him. He shot straight up on his legs and found his gaze met with two others unfamiliar to him.

"Who…are you?" he croaked weakly, and swayed on the spot as he felt his limbs trembled violently. He groaned as a stabbing ache ripped through his brain. His stomach churned with sickness as his burning head and back turned slick with cold sweat.

He never got a proper look at the two before darkness swallowed his vision and his face met the earth.

* * *

**Well it's certainly been a while since I last updated this story. **

**There was a lot in this chapter I had to struggle to work around **

**but I've ****given it my best and ****I can only hope it'll do for now.**

**As always constructive criticism is appreciated to help better myself as a writer**

**and make the rest of this story more enjoyable for the reader.**

**On a side note if anyone's interested in helping me with this story, PM away.**

**There are times when I wonder as to how other writers can write at a fever's pace**

**whilst I still struggle to string two words together.**

**I suppose it gets better with time.**

**Till next time, and I hope you enjoyed it as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Happy St. Patrick's Day!**

**Post a review for a free virtual beer!**


	4. Meetings

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that belong to the Spyro franchise. All rights and claims belong to Activision**

IV

Meetings

Ardor latched his sights onto a lonely deer that strayed from the herd. Having not eaten anything the day before, he stalked his prey in the hopes it will provide him and his travelling companion a nourishing meal. Ever since his damned missions he's been forced to live on rabbits along with whatever small vegetation he could scavenge together. The days leading up to his return shackled him with unyielding stain and he himself hated every moment of it.

Every moment of being reminded what was at stake, every moment of trudging through the muck in the countryside, and above all every moment of hunger clawing at his stomach. At moments he found it nearly impossible to move along any longer, yet he still pressed on.

Ardor was a drake of hardly eighteen, his strong arched brows rested above his azure eyes that would contrast the normal features of a fire dragon. As if they were tiny silver flecks melted in two vivid bodies of blue that struck against the sea of orange, red and gold. His distinct cheekbones and jawline appeared as though they were smoothly chiseled out of stone. He wore a loose and rugged rosewood cloak and hood over most of his body, encrusted with mud around the hem.

Anyone who shot a glance could tell by the pair of white line crossing over his right eye and down his neck that this was a dragon who knew the meaning of hardship.

With smooth ease he shadowed the buck's trail, sweeping through the foliage with delicate care. The low leaves of bushes and their spindly branches itched his scales with irritation but he forced himself to ignore it.

The trail soon led to the edge of a low ravine. The buck began to tug at the tall blades of grass near the glen, unware of his predacious presence. Silently he peered through the dense greenery, the rugged earth brushing against his pale sandish belly. Slowly creeping closer, he kept his talons stretched at the ready, tensing his muscles with forced patience.

He drew closer with one step and _SNAP!_

The deer's head shot and snapped around at the disturbance. It cocked forward both its ears and directed its gaze to where Ardor lay hidden. He didn't dare breath for fear of the buck hearing him. He gripped himself to the earth as hard as he could, focusing his efforts on remaining still.

Through a small gap in the greenery, he caught the buck stamping its hoof across the ground. Ardor spent enough time hunting to recognize that this action was to evoke a response. He knew that if he attacked now, the buck would dash off before he could even lay a claw on him. With no intention of returning empty handed, he merely waited.

After a minute of intense silence, the deer presumed there was no threat and continued its meal. Ardor readied himself fiercely, aiming for his prey's vital points. He could almost smell the sweet aroma of roasting venison wafting around his nostrils.

Exhaling one last calm breath, he leapt through with his claws outstretched, ready to lock them down on the buck's neck. He was almost within a meter of his prey when a shattering explosion broke the silence.

Before Ardor's claws even scratched the buck, he was sent spiralling back through the air by a tremendous force. He shouted painfully as his back crashed into the dense surface of a solid redwood tree.

Turning his gaze to the sky he felt his jaw drop agape, for he saw a beam of purple light shoot straight out into the sky. The clouds around him turned a sinister black, swirling into a dark vortex around the pillar of light, swirling with electric hues of violet, indigo and blue.

The wind didn't howl. It screamed. The trees creaked and moaned as their finer limbs were ripped away. Jagged bolts of violet lightning ripped through the air, as the autumn leaves spun wildly around. Thunder rolled across the sky, seeming to crack the earth in half. Reverberating all around, revealing the fury of the ancestors. Ardor braced himself for the worst of it when suddenly-

It ended.

Gone. As if it were never there.

Opening his eyes, he caught a last glimpse of the beam as it trailed into the sky. The sudden rustling of leaves drew Ardor's attention behind him. The buck darted off giving him only a split second to aim. Ardor hastily shot a narrow bolt of fire and missed his target by roughly a mile. He swore darkly as it disappeared into the cover of the forest.

Looking before him, lavender smoke curled in the air, carrying the scent of burnt bark and grass. The heather just near the edge of the ravine were scorched to grey and dry ash. The stone that marked the threshold of the chasm was a charred black.

Heat mounted up inside his open maw, tongues of orange flame licking at his lips. Ready to let loose a deadly torrent of fire against any surprising threat.

Approaching it steadily, Ardor peered over the edge into the depths below. With the narrow slivers of light that reached the base of the chasm, he could barely make out the shape of a large purple mass.

Curious, Ardor unfurled his wings to carry himself down to a slow descent. The walls of the ravine became increasingly narrow, covered with damp moss. The flow of running water cooled his paws as he landed.

Drawing closer to the mass, Ardor's flame casted a mellow light over the body of a purple dragon. He instantly felt his flame dissipate as he gasped.

_A purple dragon? __**Here? **__How?_

At first Ardor instinctively drew the possibility that he was Malefor, but immediately dismissed it from his mind. The dragon didn't look much older than sixteen. Though he'd only heard tales of Malefor's ruthless acts, a dragon this young couldn't be capable of such.

Filling his jaws with fire, he took a closer look at his features as he stepped forward. His scales were a dull, greyish purple. His horns were a matte gold. Like a trophy that hasn't had much polishing and care over the years. Various shiny burns and scars covered his body in ferocious patterns. Ardor almost jumped out of his scales when the drake let a hoarse breath and twitched feebly.

He was still alive.

Ardor wanted to get a better look at his face, so he reached out a paw to turn over his body. The moment his paw touched those scales, purple energy cackled around. It stung his paw sharply before he reeled it back in shock. Holding it close to his chest, it was as cold as ice. He hesitated before approaching again and found no resistance.

This occurrence was the latest in a series of rare anomalies that followed. Just before his departure, Ardor with many others stood gaping into the sky as it pulsed with the same hue of purple light. The earth shook so violently beneath his paws it was almost numbing. When it stopped he like many others found nothing of significant change.

Just a week later, a messenger met with the lords in parliament to bring news that war between the Dragon Nation and the Dark Armies had ceased. Though it meant little to the citizens, practically untouched by the ravages of war, it had come as a great relief to them all the same. What was more was that Malefor was slain in battle at the hands of one of his own.

Wasn't there another purple dragon? One little more than a hatching?

Yes, there was.

In that moment Ardor recalled the less than clear details of his exploits just over three years ago. How a young purple dragon placed himself against overwhelming odds as he fought to liberate the islands east off the coast of the mainland. He even had the cockiness to face the Terror of The Skies herself. Was it possible this dragon laying before him was the same?

What challenged this shortcoming notion was that shortly after his victories, he was sent on a mission by the Guardians towards the Ancient Grove. He went silent then, and no one had heard from him since. All just before Malefor had returned from whatever prison he rot in.

If this was not the same purple, was it possible there were three purple dragons at one point? Just thinking of multiple purple dragons was enough to make his head swim.

If this dragon was not Malefor, Ardor had no doubt he could well be an offspring. How he ended up here of all places mattered little.

Could it be true that he was the one responsible for slaying Malefor? He wouldn't put it past him considering the legends of his power. Should they be true though, the amount of chaos he could inflict on them all would be devastating. Though on the other paw he didn't look capable of causing any sort of damage, let alone stand.

Processing a million different possibilities, Ardor felt it best to just turn tail and fly before the purple wretch woke up. The chances of anyone else finding him were very, very slim. To just simply leave him there all alone. Stranded. Without help.

He would starve to death…

Come on you idiot just leave!

_Look at him! He's just a teen! I can't just abandon him when he may be close to death!_

If you bring him back to health, who knows what he might do next.

_He might not be all that bad. After all think about what he's done._

Really? Do you honestly think this is the guy who beat the Black Terror and the one who killed Malefor?

_It's a possibility! Besides what do I have against him? And why should I worry if he is the one who killed Malefor?_

Maybe Malefor was in the way of him rising to power. He could be just as power-lustful as he ever was.

_Well, maybe if I just-_

"Ardor! Ardor are you alright?" shouted a distant voice.

_Shit! I should have figured she'd come running after that little light show._

"Ardor are you down there?" a voice echoed from above. Ardor looked up to see a dark silhouette beneath the broad bar of sunlight. Ardor felt the muscles in his neck strain as he looked up at his companion.

"Yeah!" he shouted, shifting his body over in an attempt to hide the body.

"What happened?" she bellowed.

"Oh I was just watching the fireworks this time of day! Nothing special!" he stated rather sardonically.

"Really now?" she replied, catching on to his tone. "Well I don't think that's an ideal view to being with! Are you alright?"

"For the most part!"

"How's your friend?"

Here, he froze.

"w-what friend?" he stammered incredulously_. There's no way she could have seen him from up there! _

"Oh you know, the purple lump of a dragon you've been trying to hide behind your back," she said in a very who-do-you-think-you're-fooling tone.

_Damn_¸he swore, _I forgot how dogged she can be._

"Well what are you waiting for? Bring him up!" she yapped at him.

It took Ardor only a split second to make a decision that would leave him many nights wondering why he ever acted on it.

_I swear I'm gonna regret this._

Slowly, he slid his head underneath stomach of the drake, taking care not to get him caught on his horns. With a great deal of struggle he finally managed to position the body onto his back. Ardor only hoped he could manage to balance him on his back when he would begin his ascent. Breathing in strongly through his nostrils, he hoisted himself upwards. His limbs quivered under the tremendous weight.

_Ancestors Almighty! This One Needs To Go On A Diet!_

As soon as he leapt into the air, the weight on his back felt as though it gained three times its mass. Flapping his wings furiously he managed to climb several feet, but he was still less than a quarter of the way up. His wings began to strain with nigh unbearable tension to just keep steady alone. His ascent eventually slowed down to a low hover and then a quick descent.

"What's the hold up?" she asked.

"Oh just my new friend! I really wouldn't mind a hand right now!"

"And I suppose a wolf like me can carry him out of there?! Fly on up already!" she barked impatiently

"I'd like to see you do any better in my position given how heavy he is!"

"Hey flame for brains, here's an idea! Use your fire powers!"

Feeling fittingly abashed, Ardor called upon his fire to send a gust of warm wind as he spread open his wings. The chinook sailed towards the top with little exertion. The only struggle was trying to maintain balance as to not result in the purple's plummet. The last thing Ardor needed was to be constantly roasted as to how someone died at his own blunder.

No sooner than he had emerged from the gulf, he came into the view of a wolf with pale white fur. She was sporting a hard leather vest with a forest green tunic underneath. Bound to it was a harness that strapped her quiver to her back. Just to the side of her abdomen, a very plain dagger was tightly secured in its scabbard with another band. To her side a simple flintlock pistol snug in its holster, next to it series of three fairly sized pouches. Tied around her waist were the limp bodies of four dead rabbits.

"Nice to know you always have my back Sasha," he snorted as he glared.

"Anytime," Sasha smirked. Her auburn eyes looked up at the sleeping drake that swayed on Ardor's back. She placed her paw against the purple's head.

"Not much to worry about. He's just got a slight fever, but I don't like the look of those wounds," she said still eyeing him with a tightened expression.

"Will he be fine?" Ardor asked, raising a queried brow.

"Yes but it'll take a week or two for him to recover at the least," she let out with a sigh before looking back at Ardor. He acknowledged this with a slow nod.

"Come on," she beckoned, "let's head back to the campsite. I can treat him properly there."

So they turned about and made way back. Ardor's attention was taken by Sasha's left shoulder. Just beneath the short sleeve of her green tunic he saw it was wrapped securely with gauze that at one point, was clean white. Now it was stained with a reddish-brown blotch of dried blood that bled through, still clearly visible.

"How's the arm holding up?" he asked.

"Stings a bit every now and then," she replied with a shrug, "I can hardly use my bow without it seizing up though, but I'll manage."

"I can see you had a bit of more luck with your hunt," he said, nodding his head towards the rabbits she had caught, still dangling like puppets. At the very mention of her hunt, Sasha's expression sparkled an amused glance.

"And you know what that means," she sang smugly. Ardor eyes widened in comprehension.

"Oh please… don't… not again." Ardor groaned while shaking his head.

"I think some rabbit broth would be nice," she said. "You know, I'm beginning to grow fond of your cooking. Keep at it."

"I've done most of the cooking this last month," he grunted.

"It's not my fault you've managed to scare off every game you come across as you go blundering about through the forest," she teased haughtily. Ardor snorted and rolled his eyes, recalling the events of their last…complication.

"Funny, 'cause if I remember correctly, you were the one who managed to raise the alarm and sent nearly half the guard chasing after us. How did you that again? Hmmm- oh that's right," he said in mock realisation as his face wrinkled into a wicked grin, "you were getting all cozy with the baron's son."

Ardor immediately regretted this not a moment later as his look uncoiled from one of cheekiness to one of absolute horror.

Sasha's eyes flashed furiously as she whipped out her pistol. Before Ardor could react she bashed the end of the wooden stock against the side of his head with lightning speed. Ardor staggered back with a small yelp of pain. It didn't hurt that much, but it still irritated him enough to speak out.

"What was that for?" he snapped.

"If you ever bring that up again…" she threatened, waving her pistol at him warningly. Her voice thick with venom.

"Okay, I get it, you did what you had to. Sheesh."

Sasha threw a dirty look at Ardor and crossed her arms with a heated "sod off". Ardor felt inclined to retort but wisely held his peace instead.

Neither of them made contact till after they returned to the site. A leather brown sleeping mat lay a suitable distance from last night's fireplace, with a sand coloured cloak all bunched up at its side. Next to the mat were two rawhide rucksacks, a tightly knotted bundle of firewood, and a pot and pan.

"Place him on my mat,' she ordered as she walked towards her rucksack. Ardor merely marched up to the mat and let the weight on his back slumped to the ground slowly. The purple reacted with a raucous breath as though he struggled for air.

"Oops," he said numbly.

"Oops?!" Sasha shrieked. "Are you trying to kill him?"

"What? It was an accident!" he yelled indignantly.

"Oh as if you couldn't lay him down gently! Honestly!" she exclaimed as she hurried towards his side, turning over the purple dragon to reveal a large purple-reddish discolouration over his golden chest.

"Perfect," she spat, "a fractured rib, two at most by the size of that bruise."

"I didn't drop him!"

With a resented sigh, Sasha strode towards her rucksack again and produced a clean cloth and waterskin. Returning to the purple, she kneeled down at his side and dabbed the cloth with water. She placed it gently against his forehead hoping to bring down his temperature. Standing up, she swished the contents of waterskin.

"Skin the rabbits, I'll fill the waterskins," she ordered again, before ripping off the rabbits from her waist and tossing them at Ardor's feet. Picking up a very plump rabbit one, Ardor began to work at them as soon as she had set off, glaring at the back of her head.

He first made a small notch just above the rabbit's spine and peeled back on it, pulling most of the hide away from the meat. With a forceful tug he plucked away the tail and tossed it aside. Once most of the hair had been separated, he removed each foot with a snap. As soon as they had been discarded he severed the head with a swipe of his talon.

His paws at this point were covered in blood but he learned to stomach it after years of the practice. After gutting out most of its innards he inspected the liver carefully for any disease, usually a sign of white sickly blotches. Finding none, he detached the legs, the shoulders, and threw away the rest.

There was the bulk of his meal, four pitiful lumps of tough, chewy meat. Piling it all together a thin slab of stone, he worked at the remaining three.

As he worked he frowned and thought Sasha a bit unfair and bossy at times when it came to managing duties with him and him alone. He had hoped adulthood would have stamped out those traits in her, but he was proven wrong on a regular basis.

Even at a young age whenever it came to playing tag or dividing the chores, she always decided what and who. It seemed that her bossiness came from looking after others when they had need of her at the tender age of twelve.

She has endlessly worked to take of her family since her mother passed to the outbreak of cholera within the city. Ardor included when he was brought in as a hatchling. She quickly assumed leadership and balanced her other duties as well to provide for her family. Somehow that never seemed to wear her out. To think that she managed to pull out the slug out of her shoulder, and stitched the wound all on her own was a pretty impressive feat to Ardor. He had to admit she had balls. Big ones.

_And still righteous as ever._

*.*.*

Sasha poured two bowls of rabbit broth with a wooden ladle. Handing one to Ardor, she split a small loaf of stale bread with him, to which he replied a quick "thanks". Her attention was drawn towards the evening sky. The sun sank lower into the horizon, giving way to night's curtain. The trees stood as black silhouettes against the darkening sky, their shadows melting into blackness.

Ardor set his soup and bread aside, and simply nursed the crackling fire with his element while he traced spiralling grooves in the dirt with a talon. The small radius of light casted long shadows around the area. He always found fire, in any form, mesmerizing to watch, colours of orange and red gave way to yellow and white near the centre.

He let out another slow stream of fire beneath the pot. He admired the effect it had, shooting embers in swirling flurry, shimmering like stars before they died out. He wondered if it was odd for a fire dragon to admire the effects of their own element.

Between them laid the sleeping purple drake. Looking at him, Ardor never came to why he was helping him. Part of it might have been Sasha, but that hardly mattered. He didn't like the concept of being his caretaker, not when he was so close to reaching home. He knew that somehow they would all regret this. A purple dragon just appearing out of the blue, this had to be a bad omen. The notion of him sleeping a few meters away from one of the most powerful beings in the universes made his spine recoil inwards.

He resumed his gaze to the earth beneath him, now drawn with numerous spirals. With both their tensions from today subsiding, Sasha finally broke the silence after taking a sip from her bowl.

"I heard a rumble in the distance, and a small trace of light. I don't suppose that's how you found him?"

"Yeah," he said hoarsely before clearing his throat. She noticed that he had been avoiding eye contact with her.

"You're unusually quiet," she commented with a piece of bread in her mouth.

"Whatever," he shrugged, rolling his neck and shoulders.

"Well something's eating at you," she swallowed, "come on. Tell me." She asked earnestly. Ardor decided there was no point in hiding it.

"Sasha. The dragon's purple."

Sasha pulled a puzzled expression, her eyebrows in a tight knot. Quickly glancing between the purple and the red and leaned in and asked.

"And?"

"And?" He repeated with a slacked-jaw incredulously. "Don't you know anything of the legend of the purple dragon? The destroyer of worlds and all that crap? The one responsible for the last hundred years of war?"

"I do, but you can't seriously think that he may even be the same dragon. Look at him, he's just about fifteen from my guess," she replied before taking another draught from her bowl.

"He could well be an offspring, a dragon like Malefor could have easily molested any dragoness he liked. And even if he isn't why he is here in the first place?"

"I can't say," Sasha sighed, wiping her lips with the back of her paw, "he might even be a renegade, but there's no good in speculating about him. Give him some time to rest a bit, and we can ask later when he's awake."

Wiping the last of the bread crumbs from her mouth and front, she

"If you say so," Ardor yawned.

"After dinner just try to get some sleep alright? I'll take the first watch."

"Thanks," he said with a faint trace of a smile.

*.*.*

The evening was as old as the coffee on Volteer's desk. In one gulp he drained the last of the frigid brown liquid, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. With a heavy yawn he repositioned his yellow floor cushion, noticing that his rear was growing unbearably sore. A quick stretch and stiff crack of his back, he returned to the mountain of paper that stood atop his desk.

Volteer sat like a gargoyle on some ancient cathedral behind his large oak desk. His office was round and spacious. The walls were lined with tightly packed bookcases, protected by glass panes outlined with brass. Behind him hung a brand new banister representing the element of electricity. In front of him was a round elemental door. Even with the candle flickering in rhythm with the ticking clock, his office was almost barren of any life.

He shot another glance at his elegantly engraved clock that stood on the mantle of his fireplace. It was a pearl white in colour with thin lines of gold shaping patterns of tree limbs, leaves and sparrows. He frowned at its flamboyant gaudiness and wondered why he would ever accept such a gift. He thought it less subtle than the other features of his private work quarters. He ought to remind himself to scrape out its inner workings and start a project.

_If only time would allow me such luxury_, he thought dully.

Like many others he first hoped that the war's end would give him the amenity of progressing his research. To return to the temple alongside several of his colleagues with highly academic aims. However just as soon as the war ended had he realized there would be much rebuilding to do.

Despite the war's recent conclusion, it was as though he were still fighting one in a different manner of speaking. It strained his mind as much as being in battle, working hard to ensure that everything holds together.

Much of his work required keeping the construction team in check and making a list of progress as they went about their work. It also including the task of keeping books up to date on recent shipments for the purpose of protecting the empire's precious taxes. In spite of recent events, he had received a letter from Lord Haydn, a member of Polaris's Parliament, specifying instructions in an effort to "establish order and government to within Warfang's walls."

It has been many decades since he and the other Guardians made contact with the Northern Empire. They had never seen the war as others have on the mainland, yet they provided them with an abundance of soldiers and supplies. If only they knew they were being sent to their deaths. Though the north was untouched by the ravages of war, they had experienced a similar toll all the same.

Sighing again, he scrolled over the majority of legal documents that lay spread out before him, looking for where he left off. Dipping his claw in ink, he got back to work.

Winter is approaching, and he must ensure there is enough food in the great hall to prevent the workers from starving. The cooks of course will receive a share of the spring's crop in lieu of payment as promised. It was already enough of a challenge to convince the cattle ranchers to lend a share for the good of the city, but he assured them they will be paid in due time. Now, going back to the materials needed for the construction effort, he has already enlisted the help of the local steel mills. Provided how quickly they can produce steel, they should be able to K_nock! Knock! Knock!_

A sharp rapping at the door disturbed his thought process.

"Come in," he requested stiffly at being interrupted. On a happier note perhaps Marianne finally arrived with his requested coffee. With the wooden groaning of door melting into the side of the wall, the last person he had expected to see this late strode in with a purposeful manner.

"Volteer," Cyril greeted snootily, as though he were speaking through his nostrils.

"Cyril," the Guardian replied stoically, "this is certainly an interesting development. What drove you to visit my quarters this late?"

"I finished my round of work for the day. It was rather easy, for someone of my ability" he drawled in his usually manner. "I trust the book keeping is going well?" he smirked, beside himself with delight at the sight of those towering stacks of parchment.

Volteer was simply too tired to let Cyril drive him into a spluttering fit of rage. But it made no difference to Cyril, because from what Volteer could tell, choosing not to argue with that arrogant noble was icing on Cyril's already sweet cake.

"Slower than ever I'm afraid," he huffed before rising to his rustic limbs. He could feel them creak and moan as air popped out of every joint.

"Yes I suppose time flows like cement these days," Cyril added.

_Honestly the blistering arrogance of him. He bears all the poetic charm and ability of a cheap novelist_, Volteer thought sourly as he squinted his eyes.

"Is there a reason for you being here Cyril? I'm awfully tired and I was rather praying for the hope I'd be able to properly rest without being carried out through this incessant torture," he said shrewdly.

"Oh come now Volteer," he drawled out, his tone of someone who didn't know what the fuss was about, " you would think that after our rivalries in the past we couldn't at least come to terms with each now and then. I would like you to join me for a walk."

Volteer was surprised at this, and responded by doing something equally surprising. He complied to Cyril silently and gestured for him to walk out first with his tail. Cyril smiled with a polite "Thank you."

The two made their way from the halls to the main atrium of the council building. The council hall was a grand pantheon that stood high above most of Warfang's structures. It was often distinguishable from most of Warfang's structures due to its iconic stone pillars and twin dragon statues.

The architect reflected the characteristics of the majority of Warfang's structures, such as its domed and expansive skylight. The council building was connected to a high and long viaduct which later reached a huge triumphant arch. Though Volteer passed this arc many a time, he always referred back to its origins that dates nearly a century ago. The arc was designed to commemorate the dragons who served alongside the moles in protecting Warfang during the war. It was created several decades after the alliance between both Dragons and Moles had been established.

On the other side stood a path of descending stairs. The bridge itself was large enough to accommodate three fully grown dragons side by side, outlined with merlons of sandstone. Signs of damage were still visible among these structures, but nothing too unstable. Mainly cracked stone and scorch marks.

It was almost impossible to ignore how massive the city, layers and layers of buildings gradually descending from the centre. At moments they would pass by magnificently chiseled statues of dragons in all their pride, looking down on passing civilians.

"Truth be told," Cyril started, "my latest advance in finding dragon settlements have been… ineffective."

Volteer's face was one of genuine confusion, for while Cyril has a reputation of being unbearably arrogant, rarely had Volteer ever doubted him in his ability to deliver. Cyril admitting to this doubt was even more of a rarity.

"But how is that possible?" Volteer inquired. "You kept records of hidden dragon settlements that were formed in the dire days of the war. So that we may be able to deport our numbers to safety in times of very-"

"I did," Cyril corrected as he cut off Volteer, "During the night of the raid I was unable to recover them from my quarters before I was taken captive. After Spyro had rescued us thirteen years later, I worked ceaselessly to find them. My search held no results. I can only hope they were destroyed when the apes lay waste to the temple, lest they be used them to hunt those in hiding."

Volteer simply turned his aching eyes to the city below them. He spotted several dots of orange against the city's dark blue. Judging the way they crawled along the landscape, they were mostly guards on patrol.

"The war has certainly taken a toll on us, hasn't it old friend," said Cyril solemnly.

"Indeed it has, I can only wonder what became of Ignitus, Cynder and Spyro."

"I'm confident they are just recuperating. Spyro especially given the sheer amount needed to defeat Malefor AND seal off the destroyer. Each of us on our own can hardly hold their ground against Malefor," Cyril admitted.

"Perhaps we may have taught him too well," Volteer sighed, "he had such potential, how far we would have come in the development of magic. I can only wonder what possessed him to go down such a path."

"Yes, it crushed Ignitus's spirit to see him exiled, but the Elders felt that Ignitus had become too attached to him. No longer should he be protected by his mentor, and only family."

"I think Ignitus showed more remorse than any of us for the events that followed. He never forgave himself for what happened. Rather tragic, heartrending, shocking, and pitiful," the electric tongue rambled.

"Even when Ignitus showed him mercy in the face of death. He knew that locking him away in the Dark Realms would only deliver us more time to prepare for Malefor's return. I can only just scarcely fathom how one dragon can hold the accountability of all the lives lost and torn apart by the war and still remain restless in his endeavours. Such a burden can unhinge anyone to madness, but Ignitus held firm,"

The lecture was abruptly interrupted when Cyril let out a sharp intense gasp. Ever since he had been struck down by the Golem while in mid-air, his back had been causing him a great deal of pain and annoyance.

"It would be of high and utmost priority for you to have that examined, lest it doesn't cripple you overtime," Volteer observed.

"Nonsense," the ice dragon scoffed through a tight grimace, "I'm still in my prime. It's just a tad bit sore from the battle. It's nothing really."

Volteer didn't bother to conceal his chuckle. It was both astonishing and highly entertaining to know that after all these years, Cyril still clung to his pride. Regaining his composure he cleared his throat and began to speak in his usual manner with an air of importance.

"I ought to check in with Terrador to see how much progress he's made. Ahh speak of the devil here he comes. Terrador!" he called from to distance. Volteer turned to see him padding towards them more hurried than usual.

"I was just about to come looking for you," Cyril greeted.

"As was I. One of the messenger falcons returned with urgent news from the infirmary," he announced, "one of our own has returned to us. Cynder's been found."

Cyril was struck with a wide eyed stupor. Volteer's lips were twitching as though he couldn't what question should come bursting out at breakneck speed. Cyril began slowly and overwhelmed.

"She-she's _here?"_

"Where did they find her? How did they find her? Is she alright? Does she know what happened? Does she know of Ignitus? Or Spyro? Can she-"

Terrador raised a paw as a gesture of silence and took pace to answer Volteer's questions.

"She was all they had found. They're producing a detailed report of this discovery, but she is no fit condition to speak. She remains unconscious for the mean time," he explained.

"What of Spyro? And Ignitus?" Cyril asked hesitantly.

"We cannot assume the worst yet," Volteer cut in, "nor deny that this is a grand development in our search,"

"She may be our only witness to what happened at Malefor's confrontation. Only she can inform of where they are, and what condition they're in," the Earth Guardian reasoned.

"Should we inform young Sparx?" He's been waiting for quite some time to learn of Spyro's whereabouts," Cyril addressed.

"Perhaps after Cynder can speak with us. Pondering over what may or may not happened will only confuse him further, especially knowing only Cynder had returned. He'll have his chance to face her, once the time comes," Terrador advised.

"I take it our young dragonfly won't be making any trips to the infirmary anytime soon," Cyril quipped grimly.

* * *

I think it's time to prepare this archive for something a little more fresh. Stay tuned and I promise you won't be disappointed.

As usual critique is kindly appreciated. Chapters VI-XIII have been planned out, Chapter V is currently undergoing some review. The pace is starting to pick up a little and I can wait to upload the next chapter. To those that have stayed with me thus far, I'm extremely grateful. Every review, follow and favourite just does my heart good in these hard, stressful times.

Thank you and see you again soon.


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